A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  I held up the cuff where everyone could see it and let my voice ring around the Hall.

  ‘No, I did not. My name is Madeleine Maxwell. I was Chief Operations Officer at St Mary’s and I have never, ever removed anyone from their own time.’

  Green. Right across the board. Every light showed green.

  A huge cheer rang out.

  She waited for the noise to subside.

  ‘Has anyone, to your knowledge, ever removed a contemporary from their timeline?’

  Shit. She’d asked the wrong question. Because in my world, yes, Leon had done that very thing. Was I, at this late stage, going to blow everything?

  I took a deep breath and held up the cuff again. My head was pounding. ‘To my sure and certain knowledge, no one present today has ever witnessed me removing a contemporary from their timeline.’

  This wasn’t quite what she had asked, but no one seemed to notice.

  The cuff showed green and another cheer rang out.

  ‘Have Major Guthrie or Dr Peterson ever assisted with, or connived at, or been involved in any way with the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline?’

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit! How to put this?

  ‘Neither Major Guthrie nor Dr Peterson have ever assisted me in the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline.’

  Green. Eventually. No one seemed to notice the delay. Don’t ask about Leon. Don’t ask about Leon. Don’t ask about Leon.

  ‘To your knowledge, has Chief Farrell ever assisted, or connived at, or been involved in any way with the removal of a contemporary from their own timeline?’

  And the answer to that, of course, was yes.

  Think, Maxwell.

  ‘To save time, Madam President, I state here and now – not only have I have never removed anyone from their own timeline, but no one from this unit has ever assisted me, or connived with me, or been involved in any way with me doing so.’

  A bit convoluted, but the cuff got the gist.

  Green.

  The noise was immense.

  Colonel Albay stood amongst the chaos, head bent in thought.

  She stood up and silence fell.

  ‘This hearing is concluded. The witness is released.’

  He was bewildered. ‘Madam President? No. There are charges to answer.’

  ‘Colonel, there are no charges to answer. You clearly stated you believed this witness to be Dr Madeleine Maxwell. And she has admitted she is. You believed this witness to have committed a capital offense, and sought to bring her to justice. You charged three colleagues and the current Director with complicity. She has clearly established her innocence. And if she is innocent then so are her colleagues. The cuff does not lie, Colonel Albay. You said so yourself. Clearly, a mistake has been made. I proffer my apologies to those involved. This hearing is concluded.’

  ‘No,’ he said furiously. ‘I know that this crime did take place. I don’t know how they’ve done it, Madam President, but we have been deceived. I insist this matter be pursued.’

  ‘Colonel, you can’t keep charging people with the same crime until they give up and plead guilty. It’s not lawful.’

  ‘Nevertheless, ma’am, I insist.’

  He turned to me. ‘If you are so innocent, why did you run?’

  ‘We ran from whatever you were going to do to us. You didn’t identify yourselves. You could have been anyone. We just saw men with guns, firing wildly in all directions and causing chaos wherever they went.’

  ‘You could have spoken. In Sick Bay – you could have explained.’

  ‘Too sick to speak,’ said Dr Foster, shouldering her way through the crowd. ‘I did tell you. On several occasions. You wouldn’t listen.’

  He kept looking around. He’d been had. He knew he’d been had. He just didn’t know how.

  I sat heavily. I was crashing … ‘Give it up, Colonel. Someone here …’ and I did not look at Barclay, ‘has used you for their own ends. You’ve been deceived. You should concentrate your efforts on finding the person responsible for wasting your time.’

  I paused, in case he wanted to take this opportunity to shoot Barclay, but sadly, no.

  Albay wasn’t going down without a fight. ‘We are the Time Police and you are subject to …’

  Dr Bairstow intervened.

  ‘The Time Police have shown themselves to be easily manipulated, reckless in their actions, and careless of the consequences. They have destroyed any credibility they had within this organisation. The consequences are about to be serious. Madam President, if you would, please …’

  She stood in front of the hearing. Every eye was on her.

  ‘Seven Directors of St Mary’s established the Time Police and according to the charter it will take seven Directors to disestablish them. Since the death of Dr Maxwell, St Mary’s has not been able to assemble seven Directors, but now that you have stated – clearly and before witnesses – that this is, beyond doubt, Madeleine Maxwell, the problem is solved.’

  Wheels within wheels. This wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Helios. It was all about the dissolution of the Time Police. Mrs Partridge wasn’t the only person using me for her own ends.

  ‘Are you Madeleine Maxwell?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, wearily. ‘I am.’

  ‘The cuff shows she is telling the truth. The cuff you yourself introduced, Colonel.’

  Always be wary of people who go white with rage. It’s never a good sign. He was white now. ‘I will not allow it. I will not allow these criminals to escape punishment. The Time Police …’

  ‘Are finished.’ She flourished her papers. ‘This document is the new Charter. You will be signed out of existence as soon as we can assemble all seven Directors.’

  ‘You don’t have – and will never have – seven Directors in one place. It will never happen. And while you inch your way towards failure, I have a job to do here. The prisoners will be removed for a more thorough investigation. Sergeant, take them to the pods.’

  It wasn’t over yet. I tensed my tired muscles. I don’t know what on earth I thought I was going to do.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Markham give a signal and our own Security team stepped up. And they weren’t the only ones. All of St Mary’s stood up.

  Colonel Albay smiled unpleasantly. ‘You are all unarmed.’

  Dr Bairstow’s smile was even more unpleasant. ‘How little you know my unit.’

  All around the Hall, people produced their own private arsenals. The Security team had Tasers. Mrs Mack flourished her battle ladle. I reached up for my hair pins. One of those in each eye would slow anyone down. As the saying goes – it’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts.

  Dr Bairstow’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘Leave my unit and take your thugs with you.’

  For a second … it all hung in the balance. They were outnumbered but they were armed. Would they make a fight of it? If they did, people would die.

  Softly, into the silence, Madam President said, ‘It’s over, Colonel. Accept you have overstepped your authority. Go while you can.’

  ‘It is not over. I will fight this. You will, all of you, be brought to account.’

  ‘Colonel, there was never anything here. You have searched – thoroughly – and found nothing. It seems obvious that you have acted on information that was not only incorrect, but also personally motivated. There will certainly be an investigation into its source. You have allowed yourself to be used. You overstepped your remit. Accept it and move on.’

  He looked around the Hall. I knew who he was looking for. I may not have looked good, but I bet I didn’t look half as sick as Isabella Barclay.

  He said quietly, ‘We’ll be back,’ and it wasn’t clear to which of us he was speaking.

  Chapter Twelve

  Once, I would have celebrated in the bar, just like everyone else. I would possibly have had a drink or six, probably exchanged a great deal of less than witty but very noisy banter with my colleagues, and
almost certainly would have had to be helped to bed later. We would have woken the next morning, partaken of a very gentle breakfast, and then got on with the day.

  Now, however, with blurred vision and legs that would hardly support me, I made for my bed. I just had enough strength to pull the foot of the bed across the door to deter any nocturnal visitors and fell sound asleep.

  I woke well into the next day, enjoyed a careful shower, and headed for breakfast. Or lunch – I’m quite flexible about what I call my meals.

  I made myself a pot of tea, picked up an egg and bacon buttie, and made my way to the same table as yesterday. Someone had left a copy of the local paper, folded back to display a report of a road traffic accident two days before, on the Rushford by-pass. Apparently, it was a miracle that no one had been seriously injured.

  Someone had scribbled something underneath.

  Knock-knock.

  Who’s there?

  Ivanna.

  Ivanna who?

  Ivanna say thank you …

  I stroked the page and smiled.

  After I’d eaten, and somewhat curious to see what would happen next, I wandered into the library. I was pretty sure Dr Bairstow would want to see me sooner or later. My plan was to return to Rushford. I had concerns for Leon’s flat and workshop after the Time Police had rampaged through everything. I just hoped Dr Bairstow would lend me half a crown for the bus fare.

  The library was deserted this morning. Judging from the distant thunder, all the historians were working in the Hall. Dr Dowson bustled in and out, giving me a cheery wave every now and then. It was all very peaceful and pleasant.

  I was staring out of the window, wondering what would become of me and not thinking about Leon in any way, when Miss Lee turned up and announced that Dr Bairstow would like to see me. Her tone led me to believe it was a toss-up between me and leprosy and I’d won by only the narrowest majority.

  I followed her to Dr Bairstow’s office.

  He greeted me politely but neutrally, and we sat down.

  ‘You look a little pale this morning, Dr Maxwell. Are you feeling quite well after yesterday?

  ‘Yes, very well, thank you. A little tired, but nothing to speak of.’

  He realigned the files on his desk. I decided to take the initiative.

  ‘I’m really very grateful for your hospitality, Dr Bairstow, but I think I should return to Rushford as soon as possible. I’m anxious about Leon’s flat.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a wise move, Dr Maxwell. I’m certain we haven’t seen the last of them and, thanks to their efforts, your flat is not, at this moment, habitable. I’m sorry.’

  I sat, dismayed. So just to recap, no home, no possessions, no identity, no job, no money, no Leon … Normal people reaching my age have usually acquired houses, mortgages, jobs, cars, families, pets – I had nothing. I had even less than I started with all those years ago. I didn’t even own the clothes I was currently sitting in.

  ‘I have a proposal for you, instead. We recently received an assignment I think might interest you. 14th-century London. Southwark, to be precise. The Tabard Inn. An in-depth investigation into medieval pilgrims journeying to Canterbury. You might even catch a sight of Chaucer himself. You and Dr Peterson. Would you be interested?’

  I smiled. ‘This is a test, isn’t it? After I shot my mouth off in the dining-room the other day. You want me to put my money where my mouth is.’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, yes.’

  ‘And will I come back?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  But he did. He knew exactly what I was saying.

  ‘Well, it’s all over now, isn’t it? Everyone’s pretty well off the hook. And if you can get rid of me then even if they do come back, their star suspect is dead in an unfortunate accident in the 14th century. How sad. Still, probably a blessing in disguise, don’t you think? Of course, Leon will take it badly, but he must be getting used to it by now.’

  Oh my God, did I just say that? I wondered if, perhaps, I was becoming a little unhinged.

  Time ticked on. As it does. I could hear a motor mower outside. That would be Mr Strong giving the South Lawn a Brazilian. The lovely smell of fresh-cut grass floated in through the window and still we stared at each other. It crossed my mind again that I really should have died at Agincourt.

  ‘I am sorry you feel that way. It has not been my intention …’ He stopped. ‘Perhaps it is time we all put our cards on the table. As a mark of good faith, I shall go first. You are obviously aware of the Time Police and their function. Leon will have told you. You will know that Leon and I are from the future. That we were sent back to set up and then oversee St Mary’s. To keep it safe.’

  I nodded.

  ‘The Time Police are formed a long time in the future. To combat a very real threat. They presented themselves at various incarnations of St Mary’s, all of whom voluntarily signed the Charter. We did not, initially, foresee any problem with them. Then. But when the threat disappeared, the Time Police did not. And then they became the threat. You know all this, I believe?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘I have sent Leon to visit every incarnation of St Mary’s. It is difficult and it is dangerous. I don’t know for how long he will be gone. His mission is to persuade every Director to reject the presence of the Time Police in their unit. Even to foster rebellion if he has to. I hope that, up and down the timeline, the Time Police are being evicted from every St Mary’s even as we speak. Some will be easier than others, of course. And by now he will have a price on his head.’

  He hadn’t left me. He hadn’t run away and left me. The dreadful black fear living inside me, the one I hadn’t acknowledged, even to myself, shrivelled and died. For a moment, just for a moment, my heart soared. And then crashed back to earth again.

  He stared out of the window.

  ‘It is very possible he will not return.’

  ‘He might already be dead?’

  ‘He might be, yes.’

  ‘And we’ll never know.’

  ‘If the Time Police ever do return here, then we will know that he failed. We will be preparing for that event. In the meantime, after discussion with my senior staff, we are all of the opinion that you might, for a while, be safer in the 14th century than here at St Mary’s. However, this is a genuine assignment with a genuine purpose. I hope very much that you will accept it.’

  Outside, the motor mower roared past again. We were talking about Leon dying and the end of St Mary’s and outside, life carried on as normal.

  It was my turn to speak.

  ‘My name really is Madeleine Maxwell, but I’m not your Madeleine Maxwell. I really did work at St Mary’s, but not your St Mary’s. I was appointed Deputy Director and chose Agincourt for my last jump. It all went wrong and I received a fatal chest wound, as I’m sure Dr Foster has reported. I fell and when I opened my eyes, I was bleeding on Leon’s carpet, in Rushford.’

  My voice wobbled and to my horror, I found I was going to cry in front of Dr Bairstow. I struggled on. ‘I don’t know why I’m here. Or how I got here. I don’t know what’s going on. I …’

  My voice died away. I could not continue, but he was Dr Bairstow and Dr Bairstow always understood.

  ‘You are here, alone, in a place that’s both familiar and hostile at the same time. You have been running for your life. You are exhausted and hurt. You did not get a chance to say goodbye to Leon and you’ve just learned that you may never see him again. I can only imagine how very isolated and afraid you must feel at this moment. Please allow me to assist you.’

  He handed me a box of tissues and tactfully retired to the window while I disgraced myself.

  Fifteen minutes later, I accepted the assignment.

  * * *

  There’s nothing good about the 14th century. It opens with the Battle of Bannockburn, Edward II’s humiliating defeat at the hands of the Scots. After a disastrous reign, he was overthrown by his wife. Ser
ves him right. What sort of idiot marries a woman known as The She-Wolf of France?

  The country was right in the middle of the Hundred Years’ War with France. As usual, England had started well and then failed to follow through. Edward III dissolved into senility. His grandson, the erratic Richard II, embarked on a long minority rule and was eventually overthrown. The century closed with his imprisonment and murder.

  In the middle of all this, the country suffered repeated occurrences of the Black Death, which resulted in over 20 million deaths throughout Europe. A third of the population died. Whole villages were wiped out by the plague and were lost from all knowledge until the arrival of aerial photography revealed their sad outlines under the soil.

  The huge decrease in population meant there weren’t enough people to work the land, no matter how much they were paid. The price of bread rocketed and more riots broke out. Unable to stand the strain, the feudal system began to crumble. Peasants defied their lords and left the lands worked by their forefathers or commuted their labour for money. The faint beginnings of tenant farmers were born.

  This social upheaval led to the Peasants’ Revolt and Wat Tyler. A feeling that God had abandoned them contributed to religious turmoil. Even the weather was dire.

  It was definitely not a good time to be alive.

  Guess where we were going?

  I was kitted out in Wardrobe. They gave me a long, linen shift with loose sleeves, a thick, brown woollen dress, with another lighter and shorter surcoat to be worn over the top. I eased my feet into soft leather shoes. There was none of the usual banter. Mrs Enderby handed me a square of linen and they all watched in silence to see what I would do with it.

  I sighed. Everything was a test.

  I’d already plaited my hair and pinned it up. I twisted the square and tied it tightly around my hair, tucking in the ends. No mirror and all achieved in about five seconds flat.

  Normally, I’d be squirreling away the traditional historian’s arsenal of stun gun and pepper, but not on this assignment. I shrugged my shoulders a couple of times to let everything settle, walked a few paces to check the shoes were comfortable, tied a battered leather scrip to my belt, checked myself in the mirror by the door, said, ‘Thank you, everyone’, as I always did, and left them to make what they could of that.